Scandal: Page Three
by Lyse's Pieces
Summary: Listen, Sarah, would it make you feel better if I said I was sorry? I could try and do that sad, regretful little kid act. Thing is, I don’t know if I’m all that regretful. [JackSarah, JackDavid, language]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All characters/anything else you can sue for completely and totally do not belong to me.

Told from **Jack's** point of view.

* * *

I clear my throat and try again,

"Listen, Sarah, would it make you feel better if I… if I said I was sorry? If I said I was _really_ sorry and I was sniffling a little bit? I could try and cry while wringing my hands, like Les does when he gets in trouble. You want me to do that sad-little-boy kind of thing? 'Cause I might, Sarah, I just might. I could rub my forehead and ask myself why…_why_ did I do it? Is that what you want? Because, you know, I'll bet you've been there, too. We're all just a bunch of kids. It really ain't worth makin' such a big deal out of it."

I look at Sarah sitting across from me at the Jacobs' table. She isn't seething or crying, she's just watching me with a painful silence through her dry, disappointed eyes. Her hair is tied back so I can see every bit of her pale, disenchanted scowl. She looks pretty with her hair that way, she really does. I can even see a little bit of David in her face.

She maintains her vicious glare at me for a few extra seconds before asking, "Make me 'feel better'?" Her voice is so low and controlled that I nearly have to lean forward to hear her, "Jack, do I look like I feel anything less than fine?"

_Yes. You do._

I sit back in the kitchen chair, feeling dejected. "Look," I begin, shrugging heavily, "I'm sorry."

Her voice is dangerous and sickeningly calm, the kind of calm that soaks into a dying animal. I wish to God she'd up and scream at me, because then I'd be secure that we're both on the same level of anxiety. This goddamn calm façade she's got on is driving me insane and I know that's what she wants.

"You've already told me that. I want to hear something new."

_Goddammit_. I wish Sarah would scream, hit me, tell me to get out of the apartment and run off with David, or just do _anything_ so I could get away from her. I didn't think up excuses and drop everything to talk with Sarah so we could go around in her rhetorical-question circles. I should have ignored Les; I should have told him that _she_ could find _me._ Too bad Les had been tearing up with guilt, too bad I'm guilty as sin. And too bad I could tell that even from _his_ voice, Sarah was fucking _serious_.

Sarah continues to scrutinize my face. I want to duck under the table or jump out of the window just get her glare off of me. I shut my eyes and sigh.

_Get it together. You can handle this. _

I _can_ handle this. I can. I can handle Sarah glowering at me while she throws out question after question. She wants to ride the argumentum loop until we're both too dizzy to stand? Fine. _I'm_ the one who works with words here. And it's not even like I have anything to hide. Les told her everything she needed to know this afternoon- that, and probably a whole lot more.

* * *

About half an hour earlier, Les had jogged up to me, breathless. His face was paler than anything I could imagine and the tired red stains on his cheeks reminded me of cardinals on snow. He told me that he might have _accidentally_ let something slip.

'_Maybe'_, he said. But I _could _go ask Sarah about it, if I absolutely wanted to.

I kneeled down to get a better look at Les's tense face. I wrapped my hands around his shaking shoulders, trying to catch his eyes with my own to calm him and try to encourage honesty from his small throat, "What'd you tell her, Les?"

"Um…" the little boy started, licking his lips anxiously. He broke eye contact with me, and I could almost feel the hot nerves coursing through his body, "I…I think I told her that…"

Les scrunched up his eyes, like he couldn't remember. When he saw that I hadn't looked away, he bit his lip before quickly saying, "I told her I might have seen you kiss David!"

Oh.

_Oh, shit._

"Les," I began, feeling the tension in his body percolate into mine, "why would you tell her something like that?"

And finally, the boy realized that he had made a horrible mistake. His over-sized eyes swelled red and puffy with tears.

" 'Cause… I did. And I thought maybe Sarah didn't know."

"Les…" I tried again, "Les, do you think that there might've been a _reason_ why Dave and I didn't tell Sarah?"

"Um...maybe?" Les' eyes had all the shock and fear of a novice actor when a play strays wildly from the script.

"So, judging by what I could make of your earlier statement," I continued smoothly, ignoring the dread churning in my stomach, "she wants to see me. Is that it?"

In jerky movements, Les managed to nod his tiny head. I thought I heard him squeak out a small apology, shards of realization pinning the fact to him that whatever he had seen between me and his older brother _definitely_ should've been kept to himself.

I released him, as gently as I could manage with my trembling hands, and glanced in the direction of the Jacobs' apartment. It was still early. I could walk there and still give Sarah plenty of time to talk. I briefly considered scouting out David. But then I realized that walking in the door with him would be like throwing kerosene on a house fire… or more simply, only make things a hell of a lot worse.

I started towards the apartment alone. On my trudge to Judgment, I envisioned what Sarah would say to me when she saw me:

"_You goddamned liar! I should stab you through the heart right now! When I get through with you, they're going to have to drag the river to find your body. Goddammit, Jack! I'll tell you one thing: by the end of the night, I'll make sure that there are _no_ more little Kellys, ever; even if you and David _could _make kids. How could you do that? Huh? And not even check to see if Les is around! Are you two doing it in the streets, Jack? I knew you weren't completely honest- but my brother, Jack? My _brother_? I knew you weren't honest, but I didn't think you were stupid. Goddamn you."_

Like that, a lot like that. Maybe she'd even hit me a few times, just for a good show.

* * *

But now, sitting here in front of Sarah's expecting eyes, it's nothing like that. She doesn't scream, she doesn't threaten me, she doesn't even _cry_. I can't tell if I'm relieved or offended by that. I thought I could feel her anger a block away when I was walking to the apartment. Now, less than three feet from her, I don't feel anything except her coldness. Sarah wants to hear something new. I could tell her something new; I could tell her a _thousand_ things that are new.

I _wanted_ tell her: _now, Sarah, think about this: It's later in the afternoon, just when the sun starts thinking about sinking. And I've just finished getting rid of the afternoon edition, 'cause there was this great line about some scandal on page three. David and I are walking down the street- maybe towards the Lodging House, maybe towards the apartment- we don't know. We don't have to know stuff like that, Sarah. We don't have to discuss things the way you and I do. We just sorta know, y'know? I guess you don't. The understanding is there, though. It's nice, too. So we're walking down this one street and we hear this carriage horse neigh at something. I don't think one way or the other about it, but David does. He thinks about that kind of stuff. And he says something about how it's that horse's language, and… I don't remember exactly what he said. He said that word "unbridled," I remember that. I remember it because it was like it was the most impressive thing I'd ever heard. He's just standing there, in the middle of the street talking about some horse, and the sunlight's sorta at this angle, right? You know, your family's real lucky, Sarah. Real lucky. You and David are really beautiful sometimes. _

_So like I said, he's just standing there with this little half-smile on his face- sorta like the one you have right now, only he wasn't upset at all. He just looked so peaceful in the yellowing light that made these shadows around his face. He looked so much older. Real handsome and mature- so handsome, in fact, that I just couldn't believe it. You know when that happens sometimes? When things look so good you don't know what to do? What do you do, then? Tell him? No, I'd look like a pansy. Hit him on the shoulder or something? Nah, I'm a nice guy, I can appreciate things without being a hardass. Stare at him? I'd look like I was insane. Ignore it? That would be lying. It brought me back to telling him, but I couldn't do it. Dammit, your brother can look nice. So maybe I'd show him or something. I could take him to the nearest window so we could scrutinize his reflection, but what if he lost the light and never looked the same again? What was I supposed to do, Sarah, kiss him? Hey, wait a second. That idea's not half bad. Just a quick one. I didn't think to look around for anybody. I just leaned in and kissed him. I didn't stick my tongue down his throat or anything, just a real gentle kiss to see if he was anymore beautiful up close. He was, if you want to know the truth. I didn't even hear Les there, Sarah. And when I got finished kissing Davey, I didn't even see Les. I didn't see much of anything, because everything seemed to be moving so fast with the light was cutting into my eyes. So, I just shut them and kissed your brother again. _

"Listen, Sarah," I start.

"Say you're sorry," Sarah cuts me off. Her voice is darker than gunpowder and twice as deadly, "Say you're sorry one more time, I dare you. Say it again."

"No…" I trail off, unsure what to say next. I can't stand this. I can feel my control slipping like melting snow through my fingers. The harder I try to hold on, the quicker it drains away from me.

_Come on_, I coax myself, _you've _got_ this. Just tell her something and get out of here_.

"I was just about to say that you're really handling this well."

The flame in her eyes looks like it's about to leap out onto the table and burn it with its angry rampage. Just from that look in her eyes, I know exactly what people mean when they said "cold as hell". She keeps staring at me through those eyes, watching me, working the taut muscles in her jaw. Finally, she asks, "Did you want me to hit you or something?"

"I think 'expect' would really be a better word."

"Because you'd deserve it, Jack."

_I know._

"How could you just go off and kiss someone and then expect everything to be okay?"

_That, I don't know._

"Because it's _not_ okay."

_No shit._

"Especially not David. _David_, for God's sake. Jack, why on _earth_ would you go off and kiss my brother?"

_Well, you know how it goes. Boy seduced me with sunlight and over-active horses. I'm a romantic, what can I say?_

"There's nothing you can say, Jack." Sarah continues, as if she read my mind. Tears of disappointment douse the fire in her eyes. I think again about how _remarkably_ well she's taking it, even though I have to look away. "Nothing. And if you do say anything, don't lie."

I tell myself that I didn't lie. I just didn't tell her the truth. The truth is that… well, Sarah doesn't need to know the truth. Just looking at her pained face, I know that the truth is only going to make her even more upset.

She sits back in her chair, deflated from her own monologue. Her shoulders slump and she hangs her head back, as if her body has been drained of all confidence and comfort, leaving only a cold, brittle skeleton of a defeated girl. When she speaks again, I don't even recognize her voice. It's thin and wavering, as brittle as the smallest limbs on a dead tree, "It wasn't the first time you kissed David, was it?"

God_dammit_.

"And don't lie to me, Jack," _Now_ the tears start leaking out of her eyes, all the tears I had expected and deserved and caused, seeping out of her hard eyes, "'Cause I know damn well that it wasn't. It _couldn't_ have been."

_And there it is._ Something inside of me wanted to cry too, just so she wouldn't have to cry by herself. I usually _don't_ cry, but Jesus, do I hate when other people do, especially girls. And girls that I make cry- I _don't_ make girls cry; I don't know how to handle it. I want to reach out and rub her back. I want to lay my arm across her shoulders and tell to her that everything was going to be okay. I don't make any move to touch her though, because if I do, she might shatter.

I want to shake her. I want to take her by the shoulders and yell at her, _"Don't cry. Please don't cry, Sarah. For the love of God, stop crying." _It's over, though. Her fight against her tears is over. The cutting ice in her eyes melts from the heat of her anger and floods down her face, the salty rivers leaving trails down her pale complexion. Her fight against me is over. It's over and we both lost. David is still out there somewhere, careless that his sister's miserable, which is making me miserable and the only reason she's upset is because _I_ made her upset. It's a perennial paradox that's making me nauseated.

Sarah shoves her fists in her mouth, trying to muffle the sharp, sobbing gasps, and I just sit there, watching her. It doesn't seem real. I don't want to make Sarah cry. I don't want to make _anyone _cry. I'm paralyzed in the chair with a mind that won't quit moving and I'm sucking in air that makes me feel like I'm drowning. It doesn't seem real, but then it seems like nothing's ever been colder or harder in my life. I can't stop thinking about all those times I'd kissed David…on the fire escape or somewhere out on the streets. I'd never thought of it as cheating. It _wasn't_ cheating. I didn't know what it was, but it felt too good to ever be _hurtful_. The gears in my mind are screeching and Sarah's chest is heaving, and I know that no amount of "I'm sorrys" will ever fix this. Nothing can fix this and I'm starting to think that nothing will ever make Sarah stop crying.

_I need to get out of here._ _Sarah needs me to get out of here._

But then suddenly, just as suddenly as Sarah started crying, she stops. She stops and she glares at me through her puffy eyes and wipes at her dripping nose with her knuckles. It's almost funny, in a sick way, watching her. Those eyes that are too red and too big for her pale face, her mouth a thin, quivering line. Sarah tries to keep her composure and mount her anger while wiping strings of snot and puddles of tears off of her face with her damp sleeve. It's not amusing; it's heartbreaking. And yet, I laugh.

"What's funny?"

I know that Sarah was trying to be threatening, but her sobs clog her throat and crack her voice, which just makes me smile wider.

"Nothing, really," I concede, "Just… it's something I haven't tried yet." Then again, I haven't tried jumping off of the fire escape yet, either, but I cross my fingers under the table that Sarah wouldn't suggest that.

"You do realize that everything between us is gone."

How am I supposed to _not_ know that? I wanted to tell her that we'd been over for a _while_, ever since I'd first kissed her brother… three weeks ago? Four? I don't remember. But it's been over for a while. From the first time I'd actually leaned in close enough to David's face to see the cracked lines on his lips I'd known that Sarah and I were done for. We were the morning edition of the paper after the afternoon edition had been printed: we were still nice to look at and we functioned, but something newer, something better was out there. And like the old morning edition, the breaking news was becoming common-knowledge that didn't change. It would remain crinkled and yellowed until it was thrown away to drown in the East River. Sarah and I had been over for a long time; I just hadn't been able to fully throw us away yet.

"Yeah, I figured."

Sarah sniffles loudly and stands up, rubbing the tears from her face with her slick knuckles, "You're a jerk, Jack Kelly."

I know that. I'm a low, lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch bastard who makes up headlines and kisses his girlfriend's brother. And suddenly, with Sarah's softened, dry eyes and loosened jaw, I'm very, very okay with what I am. Just don't let her cry again.

"Come on, Sarah," I crack a wide smile, willing my charm to seep through the thick fog of my nerves and emotions, "tell me something new."

"I hate you," She said simply, although I could see a smile reaching out to toy with the corners of her lips.

"No, you don't."

She concedes with a shake of her head and sighs, turning towards the kitchen without another word. I watch her go, the curled ends of her long hair flouncing with her steps.

"Hey, Sarah?" I call after her, helpless with my curiosity. "Are you…?" My voice fades and I'm slightly dizzy and a little confused, emotionally-drained and very, very hesitant of what to say next. "How come you didn't scream or hit me or nothing? I mean, I've seen broads almost cut the throats of guys who are just _rumored_ to've walked another girl home. And here, Les comes and tells you that I've been kissing your brother and you just cry a little bit and leave?"

I take a deep breath, light-headed from speaking so fast. I can't help but ask though and maybe I'm even a little offended. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I _want_ Sarah to hit me. I just sorta want to see more passion than that. Am I not _worth_ a good slap across the face or a scream? Not even a little shock? "Are you… y'know, okay and everything?"

Sarah leans back towards the table and faces me, though to my dismay her face is devoid of any trace of a grin, "What do you mean? I just cried out the East River in front of you, and you want to know if I'm okay?"

"Well, yeah," I shrug, noting the tears stippled on her eyelashes, "just, are you hurt or anything?"

"The only person who's going to get hurt here, Jack Kelly, is you if you keep saying stupid things like 'I'm sorry' and 'are you okay?'. You're not sorry and I'm _fine_." She turns sharply on her heel and goes back into the kitchen.

I'm quiet for a moment, watching her go, half-nauseated with the bitter syrup of Sarah's tears and half-wanting to stand up and applaud her over-dramatic exit. Finally, I call to her, "'Cause you don't look fine."

Sarah doesn't even bother with leaning back in to shoot me with another one of her part-disappointed, part-murderous glares, but I can hear her expel an exasperated breath and slam a cupboard door shut.

"Jack," her voice sounds strained, like she's trying to push the noise out but hold her tears back, "go ahead and leave. It's over."

I don't know if she means that this discussion is over, or if _we're_ completely over; over to the point where she wouldn't even bother to speak to me if I walked in the room. And I know that even if she never _looked_ at me again, I really couldn't blame her.

_Jack, go ahead and leave. It's over_.

So I leave.

* * *

I started this story as a one-shot, but then I got really excited with it and it grew to be much longer. I decided to go ahead and break it up into a couple chapters.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

I walk down the street from the Jacobs' apartment, trying to remember which direction David came from so I could avoid him. It's not that I don't want to see _him_; it's just that I've had my fill of people for the day. I can't shake the feeling of wanting to cry _with_ Sarah, and the front of my head still feels heavy and clogged.

I choke up my pathetic sentiment and even try to squeeze out a few good tears. Maybe I could get a really good show going and then run back up to Sarah and please _beg_ her to accept my apology. But then I realize I'd have to _beg,_ and there's something else I don't do. I don't cry, I don't make other girls cry and I don't beg for forgiveness. I sure as _hell_ do not cry while I'm begging for forgiveness from other girls that have cried because of me. Does this make sense, a street kid getting worked up over relationship _bullshit_? No, it does not.

I keep walking… keep thinking about how David and I don't ever discuss where we're going. We just go. I'm trusting my legs to carry me somewhere, anywhere, so I can lie down and indulge myself into spongy sleep and let the soupy evening burn away. I feel terrible for what I did to Sarah, but I don't regret anything. I wish I had never met David; I want to run away with him to New Mexico. I'm so exhausted I'm about to pass out, and yet my mind's never felt so alive and jumpy. The Lodging House is four blocks and at least two unbearable guilt trips away. I keep walking.

When I finally traipse towards the building, a few of the other boys are standing around outside, puffing cigarettes and flipping cards in the failing sunlight. Blink calls out to me, pinching his cigarette between two fingers and watching the ash powder the ground, "Long day, huh Jack?"

I shake my head tiredly and tug my face into a smile that would've made even the most acclaimed actor jealous, "You're telling me."

* * *

David is sitting quietly, reserved from the group. As tired as I am of dealing with Jacobs who won't speak, I slide over towards him anyway, my mind drained from small talk. 

"She knows, Davey."

He looks up at me with an over-done expression of surprise stretching his slender face, "Who knows what?"

"How many 'she's' do you know that we're keeping a secret from?" I ask. "Your sister," I try not to snap, but the rubbing irritation is like sand against the inside of my head, making hot frustration boil in my stomach.

"Oh, Sarah," he shrugs, casually flicking the dirt from under his fingernails. He ejects a clear, airy sigh without any tint of regret to it, "Yeah, I know."

"Les tell you?"

"Nope."

The frustration is slowly beginning to lick the inside of my throat, making my mind itch furiously, "How'd you know?"

"'Cause, Les," David turns to me, a smile grasping at the corners of his mouth, "didn't tell anybody anything."

"What are you talking about?" _Calm. Stay calm. Get it together. It's over_, I tell myself, sucking in deep breaths to douse my exasperation, "Les told Sarah about… I guess you know. The… y'know," I can't bring myself to say it in front of the other boys standing near us, "_thing_."

David shrugs again and against my own will, I admire the evening's shadows that are shading in his jaw line. "If you're going to talk about it, Jack, don't cover it up. I got kind of tired of that. So," he takes in a deep breath of his own, either to mount his courage or for the sake of drama, like his sister, "so, I told Sarah."

The pounding my in heart stops, the rush in my ears silences, and the stewing frustration in my stomach freezes, dropping with the rest of my intestines. All I can manage to choke out is, "Oh."

"Yeah."

I'm quiet for a moment, thinking of a way to pose my dire curiosity. At last I ask him, "Just… how come?"

"Because," David stretches leisurely, as if we're just discussing the paper that day instead of his unreliability and his sister's fragile emotions, "_you_ weren't going to."

"Well, I probably would have," I argue, even though I know that I could have gone on forever volleying between the two Jacobs.

"When? When you and Sarah were married and I'm living in the guestroom? _I_ didn't feel like waiting. And I didn't feel like listening to Sarah rave about how great you are for another night."

"Rave, huh?"

"Jack," David sighs, "the point is, my sister would wake up and say how great you were, and then make dinner and say how great you were and then go to bed saying how great you were. And all the while, I'm going behind her back."

"That makes it your fault too, Dave," I point out.

"No arguments. So, I told Sarah, and then told Les to tell you that _he_ told her, so you'd _have_ to talk to Sarah."

For a moment, I just nod dumbly. My neck has already been stiff with tension for a while and all of the confounded shaking is only making it sorer. The gears in my mind are spinning now, greased with David's deviousness. I'm trying to make sense out of his actions and they keep jumbling themselves together, forcing the "whys" with impulsive answers to create a clear conclusion.

"Well, didn't she get mad?" I finally inquire.

"Yeah."

"And didn't she scream and cry and all that stuff?"

"Oh, yeah. And she threw something at me."

"And you still thought you were doing the right thing," I can feel the jigsaw pieces of the story begin seal together in my head, "So, Dave, let me get this straight. You told Sarah that I kissed you, and then told Les, to tell me, so Sarah could yell at me and then I'd report back to you?"

"Yeah," He leans back even further, overtly pleased with himself.

I'm dizzy. I don't think I've ever had to make sense of such swirling, over-lapping facts and even though I think I have it figured out, I'm still confused. I don't know if I want to hit David or kiss him. Instead, I just nod again, "Well, your sister hates me."

"Hates me too. One more thing we have in common."

_Which brings the list to what, three?_ I think with an inward laugh, amused again at the striking contrast between the two of us.

"It makes sense," I realize, "why she didn't scream or hit me or nothing. She'd already wasted all of her energy on you."

"Yeah, I told her right after we'd finished with the afternoon edition, and then came back to tell Les. So she had time to calm down."

"I don't know if you're brilliant or just stupid," I pause for a moment, rethinking the situation. Finally, "Do you think Sarah is gonna get over it?"

"It's likely," David replies airily, "give her a week. I was a little worried she'd be upset, too. And she is, she definitely is," Of all the things David could do, he laughs. He stops in mid-sentence and laughs, a bittersweet, sardonically cheerful laugh, "But she'll get over it. Besides," David gently covers my hand with his, shifting so our hands are _just_ out of sight of the other boys, "I usually get Sarah's things when she's through with them, anyway."

"I was the one who got through with her."

"And still," it's David's turn to shake his head, "_I_ was the one who had to speak up."

The irritation in my stomach melts away along with all of my thoughts about Sarah, leaving a clean, cool sensation of relaxation and soft happiness. For the first time in almost two hours, breathing becomes easy and my head slows down. The shadows are back on David's face, and I realize again how handsome he looks in this moment, in a moment I have to savor because he might never look quite that way again. I want to tell him, "Today wasn't so bad after all," I want to lean in and kiss him again now that my head is lighter and my conscious is floating, finally un-snagged from the guilt of Sarah.

David doesn't lean in to kiss me, though, and I know that he's thinking of the other newsies that are still standing outside. Instead, he makes a reference to the day, "So, that line today," he says, smiling in the darkening light, "that was some scandal, huh?"

I smile back, "You're telling me."

* * *

**A/N:** I certainly hope that you guys enjoyed this. I sat down a few nights ago and started sketching out another story inspired by this one. I'm kicking around the idea of writing a longer story from David's point of view, picking up before "Scandal" and concluding after. I want to throw in a good amount of Sarah as well; I'm definitely beginning to develop a taste for Sarah angst. Anybody interested? 

Very special thanks to **stress**, **Maddiecake**, **Braids21**, **guiltytexan**, **Purple Rhapsody**, **HotSpotSlingShot**, **midnight1899** and **Total Havoc** for their wonderful reviews!


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